


phosphenes

by moonstruts



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: 10 Moments, 10 Things, And Kageyama is well Kageyama, Basically Hinata is a dense baby, First Love, Fluff, M/M, awkward teenage boys, kinda i guess
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-17
Updated: 2014-10-17
Packaged: 2018-02-21 12:35:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,503
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2468408
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moonstruts/pseuds/moonstruts
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>10 things that sort of happen before Hinata finally gets it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	phosphenes

**Author's Note:**

> this is my first hq!! fic even though i love this manga so much, what's wrong with me.

1.

It's Tuesday, and Hinata Shouyou thinks he might be dying.

They say before you die, everything appears to be much more beautiful, and you start to appreciate the things you never really did before. Hinata's never been much of a philosophical person, not really, but he figures the end of the world must be nearing.

Because Kageyama, with his head bowed beneath the stream of the running faucet, is somehow pretty today. Now here's the thing: Hinata has never had a taste for art, but in this moment Kageyama is dripping starshine and sugar dust. It clings to the tips of his hair, pitter patters in a constant rhythm, then melts away.

He moves to rub his eyes again, pauses to touch the forming bruises on his palms; they're no longer red, just echo with the force of his spikes. But Kageyama, he notices, has pastel, china doll skin, pale and smooth like porcelain, _how unfair_. Hinata peers down at his skinny thighs to knobby knees and bone-jutting ankles, all sun-kissed and dappled with bruises of awful colors. His body is such a discordant painting of injury and try harder, the one word that comes to mind is _unsightly_.

When he looks up again, Kageyama is stalking passed him, and Hinata doesn't move, just keeps watching the stars linger on his dark, dark hair and shivers.

Kageyama is really, really pretty today.

&

October is a rather nice time of year.

.

.

.

2.

Hinata is a simple person, never really had a strong sense of want in his life.

He did his chores, scrubbed the dishes, and folded his own clothes. The first and last time he ever asked for a gift on his birthday was in junior high when he wanted a volleyball more than anything in the world.

He's never been demanding, never asked for what he couldn't have. When Natsu was born, he made her the princess of his universe like good big brothers are supposed to. And he's been happy this way.

But for the first time in his life, Hinata Shouyou feels an insistent want, an urgent need:

To feel important, to be special, to _matter_.

"What's up with that half-assed spike, Hinata. Hit it like you mean it. Get your head out of your ass, and stop insulting my tosses."

Every time Kageyama opens his mouth and spits poison, it's like being nailed to the floor through the gaps in his rib cage, and Hinata doesn't know if he's more angry or hurt or ashamed of himself.

The lack of a snappy retort has Kageyama staring and staring with his electric, watchful eyes, ball tucked tight in the curve of his arm, and all Hinata can do is look away and think, _such a spoiled child_.

Kageyama exhales. "You better hit this next toss," he says. Hinata stops breathing and listens, glass-eyed. "Because if you don't, who the hell will?"

Ah.

It only takes two moments for Hinata to start his run up, pushing against gravity and feeling each step ripple through his calves. It only takes one-third of a moment when he's flying, and the ball connects with his palm in the single most perfect spike. In that bliss Hinata, floating, feels wonderful and terrible all at once, lands with a thud and half a smile.

There's the slightest of curves on Kageyama's lips and triumph in his midnight eyes when they're calloused hands meet in a thunderous high-five, and oh.

Hinata realizes he's been rather spoiled all along.

.

.

.

3.

He dreams of Kageyama one Thursday night.

He doesn't remember anything about it, just that Kageyama's the last face he sees before waking up to a cacophonous alarm and the grey of early morning.

Hinata turns on his side, glares at the clock for leaving him hanging and wanting more, and now he'll never know.

He'll never know.

.

.

.

4.

As it turns out, Kageyama is in a lot of his dreams lately.

Sometimes he'll remember pieces of the story, but most of the time it's all too fragmented to make any sense. This time, it sticks.

They kiss in his dream. Just once, quick and fleeting, like a summer drizzle. It happens when they win the spring tournament, the match point scored with one of their insane quicks. When their lips touch, Kageyama tastes a bit like cotton and sweat and something else.

Hinata lies in bed with his face half-buried in his pillow, and wonders.

.

.

.

5.

He likes to say he doesn't cry easily, but here's the thing: he does.

The team crowds around the television in Tanaka's house for movie night, and the film they chose is not necessarily sad, no. But it is more serious than Noya's last choice, a raunchy comedy that went all wrong, and honestly, _never again_.

The movie they're watching is not one that Hinata is familiar with, and, well, he's already forgotten the title, doesn't have a clue what's going on. And the reason for this, perhaps, is due to the current seating arrangement, which is really nothing new; they claimed their spots the first time around, and it sort of just stayed that way.

Hinata likes to sit on the floor before the couch, with Kageyama directly to his left, and it all happened so naturally, it's vexing how stupidly aware of it he is now. He doesn't notice his own restlessness, legs constantly twitching and bouncing, until Kageyama stops him with a firm hand on his thigh and a flick to his head. The skin where he barely touched him burns white hot, and he wills himself not to shudder, _please don't_.

He realizes the movie is coming to a close and that he's been watching Kageyama's impassive reactions in the corner of his eye much more often during those short two hours than he would like to admit. When someone sniffles in the corner of the room (probably Asahi), Kageyama throws his jacket over Hinata's face—almost slaps it like a quick toss, really—like he always does after movies. It's warm and smells a bit like laundry and a lot like Kageyama, but he thinks he likes it, kind of.

Hinata closes his eyes and breathes.

.

.

.

6.

It happens just once out of the blue on an ordinary day between practice.

Hinata can't really recall what the conversation about, just that it had something to do with tonkatsu and old graphic T-shirts, but it happens.

Kageyama smiles.

Like, a genuine smile without the furrow of his brows or a forced display of bone-white teeth.

He just, smiles.

And it's probably the most stunningly beautiful thing Hinata has ever seen since the Little Giant's appearance on television that one fateful day.

Sure, Kageyama has smiled before—if you could call it that—little twitches of his lips, or slight curves in the corner of his mouth. It only happened occasionally and always, always because of volleyball. He'd get this euphoric look with the ball between his palms, but—

It's _always_ volleyball.

Today, Kageyama stares right into his dust-storm eyes, still smiling with his crinkled eyes and his pink, chapped lips. It's candid and a little crooked to one side, but so overwhelmingly free and completely honest, it hurts.

And _wow_ , that's not fair.

.

.

.

7.

They hold hands one time.

It might have been an accident, but neither of them make a move to let go. A fast car had zoomed by, and Kageyama looped a hand in his, pulled him back to the inner sidewalk. It was rough, but, well. They don't even look at each other after that, just blink and stare off down the road in a peppermint swirl of broken thought bubbles.

Hinata doesn't know much about shoujo manga, but he guesses it goes a little like this.

Kageyama's hand is warm, more coarse than it is smooth, but it feels like home, somehow. The barely-there weight of their hands entangled is almost ghosting a touch, no friction, no hammering pulse.

&

It's not enough.

.

.

.

8.

By now, Hinata thinks he gets it.

Then again.

Kageyama wouldn't know subtle if it shot him in the foot.

.

.

.

9.

He kisses Kageyama on the way home from school.

It's not his fault, really it isn't.

It's his eyes. When they reflect the pink and orange of the sunset-sky, they almost kind of glow. Hinata called them grapefruits, thinking to be humorous, but Kageyama just stared and stared and stared.

Then he kissed him, real quick with his hands still gripping the handles on the bike, sweaty.

It tastes different from his dreams somehow, a bit like pork buns and skin and something sweet.

He half-expects to have the left side of his head smashed in or maybe one swift punch to gut, but it never comes. Because Kageyama is frozen in place like instant rigor mortis, lips half-parted, with his pretty, pretty eyes wide, unmoving.

Hinata finds amusement in this, smiles hard against his teeth.

.

.

.

10.

It's Tuesday.

&

Hinata Shouyou thinks he might be in love.


End file.
